Morrigan's Game
by sbu-liz
Summary: AU. Her eyes are set on the greatest prize of all, King Vincent's realm. Featuring Cena, Orton, Bourne, Sheamus, the McMahons and many others.


**A little bit of ridiculousness I dreamed up in between writing Playing with Fire and watching BBC documentaries on British Monarchies. **

**I don't own anyone except for my original characters. **

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><p>Common folk milled about as the company of troupe ambled into the square of Heorot. A black flag, hedged with a series of gold mountains capped in white, flew at the forefront of the troupe. Their red and black livery, trimmed in gold and white, and their black and white steeds set them as members of the Royal Court.<p>

The captain of the guard rode front and center, his massive black courser chafing at the ground as he halted it at the center of the square. Heorot was a simple town, not overly large, but small enough that everyone still knew each others' names. The crier of the town stepped forward, meeting the Captain with his head held high.

"May I be the first to bid thee welcome to the humble village of Heorot, Sires," Gene Okerland spoke clearly. He was an older man, maybe in his early fifties. No doubt one of the oldest still living in the village. He sat at the right hand of the Alderman of Trade, James Ross. Unofficially, he was the Alderman's voice in everyday affairs of the village.

The shrewd, slate gray eyes of the captain landed on him and narrowed. Though younger than Gene by at least twenty-five years, Rand Orton was not untried in battle. In fact, he was leading the Second Camp of Royal Guards back to the Royal city of Hartford. Heorot was but one stop among hundreds, cataloging who was still loyal to King Vincent in the realm.

"You will set up lodging and food for my men, Crier. The King demands it," he spoke slowly, almost like he was choosing his words or holding back his temper. Truthfully, he was tired, but loathe to show weakness to the common folk of the realm. Rebellion was still a whisper along the outskirts, even with Princess Stefania's marriage to the barbarian king of the northern territories. Rand shook his head to clear the thoughts away and tossed a small pouch of Royal coinage at the foot of Gene.

Gene bowed deeply. "So it shall be done, Sire. The inn is no further than two lengths of the square away. You will be received warmly."

Rand clicked his tongue and urged his mount on, the ten men and horses behind him following suit. They arrived not long after at the inn. It wasn't near enough to what his quarters at the Palace would be, but it would have to suffice. His men wasted no time seeing their horses stabled before commandeering the inn's first floor. The First Guard shouldn't be far off, Johnathan Cena pushing to meet up in Heorot after crushing a rebel force two towns over.

Wine flowed like the Twin Rivers as barmaids scurried about trying to make his troupe comfortable. No one dare upset the King, nor would they upset him. Rand's terrible reputation for being quick and explosive in his anger followed him throughout the realm. He watched them scramble to and fro, bowls balanced precariously in hands and crooks of elbows, four at a time, serving his men quickly. Common women, but pretty enough for a romp in the dark. Except for the young girl serving him.

It wouldn't be fair to call her pretty. She was odd to look at more than she was pretty, her face covered in freckles that spider webbed down her neck and across her chest, swirling on her bare shoulders and disappearing under the rough hewn material of her gown. Her hair wasn't a true red, not like the kind prized by the court, but more of a red flecked blonde and it wreathed her face in wild waves. Her blue-green eyes were sharp, dangerously intelligent for a woman. To say she made Rand uneasy would be an understatement.

Before he could place what made his gut clench upon seeing her, Johnathan's First Guard burst in, Cena at the head of the fray. The girl shifted away in the bustle, her eyes catching his as she winked slowly, as though she was letting him in on a child's game. Try as he might, Rand couldn't shake off the feeling of danger she cast over the raucous night.

"Ah, if it isn't old man Orton's oldest whelp," Johnathan exclaimed as he clapped his hand down on Rand's shoulder before taking the empty seat next to him. The bargirls once again rushed to feed the influx of men while the girls upstairs worked tirelessly to ready the beds. Night was creeping on, and with they way drink was being consumed and bowls being refilled, many a man would soon be stumbling upstairs to crash into an exhausted, travel weary sleep.

"A few ought rebels really give you that much trouble, Cena?" he quipped, meeting John's blue eyes before downing the rest of the wine in his cup.

John's laugh came easily. As sullen and temperamental as Rand was known to be, the captain of the First Guard was the complete opposite. Two sides of the same coin, even. "Not as much trouble as their women were, eh, boys?"

A cheer rose up from the First Guard's men which was echoed by the Second. The maids continued circulating food and drink until every last man was sated. A few stumbled drunk about the room, and the redhead from earlier settled into the crook of Cena's arm with little ceremony.

He dandled her on his lap for a time before she leaned forward, whispering something Rand couldn't make out over the noise of the guards. With a flourish, John swung her into his arms and carried her up the stairs, much to the delight of his and Orton's men, alike.

Her eyes never left Rand's. John was a fool to trust me, they said. Rand swallowed and let them carry on. John was more than a match for a curiously unpretty barwench.

Or so he hoped.

After a good bit of time had passed, a cry carried down to the bottom floor. Drunken men tried their best to rouse themselves and respond. A deafening crash sounded above and Rand fell easily into authority.

"Guard the doors! No one gets in or out!" His men rushed to obey.

"Sir!" The voice of Evan Bourne caught his attention. "On the balcony!"

The collective attention of the room settled on the balcony of the second floor. A flash of red-gold hair and steel and John's undignified grunts as he fought with her, his leather purse in her small hand. She dodged him as a wolf avoids the striking hooves of a bull, though his dagger caught the bottom of the purse and coins rained over the bannister and to the first floor. She made a frustrated sound, then, her prize no longer in the balance. Now she was fighting for little more than her life.

Racing down the stairs, she twirled out of the hands of many an officer. Bourne managed to trip her up, the only one fast enough for her, before Rand caught her by the arms, his sword drawn and held at her throat. She stilled under the blade, her eyes impossibly wide.

"You'd lose your life for a few pieces of gold, girl?" he hissed out, pressing the steel harder against her skin, drawing a thin line of blood. Her breathing quickened, but she dared not move. "At least give me a name to call a thief of the King's coin."

"Dian mab Eireann," she breathed as John came to stand before them. Her voice held an unfamiliar lilt, heavily accented and revealing she was in a land not her own.

"A thief and a trespasser," Rand supplied cooly, his temper steadily rising. "No matter. Pray to whatever god grants you breath, girl, for you breathe your last this night."

"Wait," the First Captain stilled his hand before he could make the cut. "She's but a girl, Rand. Barely of age."

"She's a thief!"

"Do you really want more blood on your hands, Orton?" John's eyes met his, deathly serious. "Let her go, Second Captain, by order of the First."

"So she can rob more men blind? Are you mad, _First Captain_?" he spat the address out as though it tasted bad. "She dies. What is the life of one girl?"

John forced his hand and sword away. Dian stumbled forward and landed at Cena's feet, her hair hiding her face as she placed her forehead to the tops of his boots.

"I owe my life to you, Sire," she began, "I beg you to allow me to atone for my sins against you and the crown."

"Up with you, girl," he caught her around the upper arm, not unkindly. "Be ready to leave at dawn. My wife would have need of an extra pair of hands."

Dian flung her arms around his neck. "Oh, Sire, thank you!"

From his sullen corner, Rand made a disgusted noise. "She'll slit yours and Elizabeth's throats as you sleep, you forgiving fool."

John ignored him. "If you betray my mercy, you will not answer to your Lord, but to mine. Are we clear?"

She nodded, sobered by his grim promise.

"Good," he turned from her and addressed both companies. "To bed, the lot of you! We make for Hartford at dawn!"

Three cheers rang up before men began to make their way upstairs. Rand didn't move from his corner until the last man was gone. Only Dian stood in the lobby.

"A lucky little thing, aren't you? Would that your luck carries on as such, girl. I have allies in every family at Court," he told her, passing her up to ascend the stairs.

Her voice carried impossibly clear as he paused at the top of the stairs. "Would that you have allies across the sea, Sire, as I have luck in your land."

Rand smiled dangerously over his shoulder, though she seemed nonplussed. He shrugged and carried on to his room. There would be plenty of time to deal with her and all of his other business come morning.

The sound of hooves against the cobblestones caught her attention. They sped away until they faded into the night. Her part in the plan was set. It was up to the rest of the clan to carry out their due.

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><p>He pushed the dun mare far too hard, until she was lathered and exhausted, but he made it to the shores on the outskirts of the realm. A ship awaited his word to set sail for Isla Vert, the sun just rising above the water. He whipped the hood of his cloak off revealing a shock of the same red-gold hair, only darker.<p>

"It is done," he said finally. He had delivered his youngest sister into the hands of the enemy, might that she could glean some information from them. "Dian mab Eireann sleeps in the First Captain's bed this night."

"You've done well, Stiofan," her voiced caressed him like the smoothest silk. "Worry not about your sister; she was trained well for this and the Morrigan saw her fit to be the linchpin of our machinations."

"Yes, Milady," he nodded resolutely, out of respect. She stepped out of the shadows, her black gown dragging along the sandy shore, a crown of cormorant feathers holding her long, fair hair away from her beautiful face.

"You will stay here, in Vincent's realm, and await further orders. If Dian has any information to spare, she knows to contact you. Now go. I must deliver the news of our success to the Morrigan. May the Goddess smile on both of you, my son."

In that moment, he hated their mother. She was a fierce woman who played a deep game in an unfamiliar realm. The stakes were high, and she was unscrupulous enough to use her own children as means to her ends. Of course, someone pulled her strings just as hard as she pulled theirs, but neither of Eireann's children had ever lain eyes on the dreadful queen of Isla Vert known only as the Morrigan.

He watched her board the ship and saw it off, waiting until it vanished over the horizon. He had no idea what lay before him or Dian, and the thoughts of the future lay heavy on his mind. At last, he turned his back to the sea, to his home. He had a small stronghold of men near the coast to find, Dian's personal guard sworn by blood to his and her lives. They were given orders to dig in and vanish in the outcropping woods, so it would take the better part of the day to find them.

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><p>Dian stood stock still as the Countess circled her, a thoughtful look on her face. She admired her covertly, through lowered lashes. The Countess Cena was a beautiful woman, far more beautiful than Dian could ever hope to grow into. Long, silken brown hair flowed down her elegant back, the costly gown of rust and cloth-of-gold fabric hugging her slender curves.<p>

"You chose an ugly enough one, Johnathan," she remarked, not unkindly, just stating the facts. "Well, then, girl, raise your head. Let me get a look at you."

Dian obeyed without delay and curtsied before meeting her new mistress' eyes. "Milady."

Elizabeth's face was even more striking full on. No wonder the Captain had chosen her as his wife. Her cheek bones were high and her eyes, Grainne help her, her eyes were the color the Twin Rivers in winter. They bore into her, scrutinizing her freckled face, her fiercely intelligent eyes. Dian struggled not to squirm.

"What skills have you...?"

"Dian, Milady," she hurriedly supplied. "I can wash, clean and cook. I can mend as well."

"I have plenty of washers and cooks, girl, and mending keeps me busy during the snows. What other use are you except another mouth to feed, and a rather unpretty one at that."

"I was my Lady's attendant in Hamlinshire, ma'm," she whispered, hoping this last bit of skill would keep her behind enemy walls.

That seemed to whet Elizabeth's interest. She kept her face guarded, but turned to Johnathan with an arched brow. "You brought me an attendant?"

Dian heard the barely suppressed glee in that question. She watched as John crossed the room and kissed his wife's brow. "Only the best for my dove."

"You'll spoil me," she told him, "but this should make that cow green with envy. Come now, we must acquaint you with the rest of the house servants. And for Savior's sake, girl, we must make you presentable. I don't want to be waited on by some odd piece of gutter trash."

A double edged sword, it seemed. Dian knew this type of woman well. In fact, Elizabeth reminded her much of her own mother. She followed the Countess through the quarters, finally ending in the bedroom.

"I have need to test your skill tonight. We are to meet with the rest of Court and it won't do for me not to look near as beautiful as the Queen herself!"

Inclining her head, Dian waited for her to take her seat at the vanity. She set about with deft hands taking down the bone straight, dark hair of the Countess. Gently, she brushed out the locks until they shone like marble and began to braid. When she was done, Elizabeth's hair was done up in an elegant crown about her head. Elizabeth admired her work in the polished glass of her mirror.

"Go and get the blue gown from my trunk," she told her, and Dian did as she said. She helped her out of her house gown and into the blue silk affair, emblazoned with silver trimmings. She gave Dian a critical eye before digging out an older looking gown, much too small for her now, but that should fit the smaller girl well. "Well, go on, get dressed. Jack will be back soon from his lessons and I want you to make a good first impression."

Jack? Did they have a brother or cousin living with them? Dian took the green linen gown and changed around the corner of the master chamber. She hadn't anticipated more than servants living at the manner and the addition of another male could make things difficult unless she could sink her talons into him before he got wise. She finished getting dressed and a lesser servant took her old dress to either clean or burn, it didn't matter which to her. Following Elizabeth back down stairs, she picked up on the din of male voices coming from the sitting room.

Elizabeth entered the room with all the regal air a first cousin of the Crown could command with Dian following demurely behind her. She surveyed the room. There was Johnathan, of course, and the dark haired officer who'd tripped her up at the inn, too, along with a smaller boy of around six or seven. He had Elizabeth's startling eyes but Johnathan's features. Elizabeth took him into her bosom and coddled him.

"Did you do well today, Jack?" she asked him, and Dian breathed an inward sigh of relief. The boy squirmed in her grasp, a bright smile on his face. "Jack, this is Dian. She will look after you sometimes. Would you like that?"

He didn't say anything, just smiled and nodded, suddenly shy as he hid behind his mother's skirts. Dian curtsied and kept her eyes to the floor. She noticed the lower officer was utterly relaxed despite her presence. Fool. She wondered if all of the Crown's guards were as trusting and idiotic as Cena. There was definitely a chance of it, from the way everyone had taken her into their confidence.

"Dian, will you see Master Bourne out?" Elizabeth's command pulled her from her thoughts.

"Yes, Milady," she answered and lead the way down the corridor to the front door.

"The Captain Orton doesn't like you," he said genially, not content to let silence reign.

"I can't blame him, sire. I was foolish to think I could get away with stealing from a captain of the guard, but I was so very desperate... The inn keeper was going to sell me to a brothel the next day," she kept her eyes to the floor. Maybe she could engender some sympathy from him, make an ally of him. Making a small sound in her throat, she feigned tearfulness. "I intend to repay my debt to the Crown and to Lord Cena as best I can, though."

Evan frowned. He hadn't meant to upset her. "I don't think you're foolish. People do strange things when they're desperate."

Dian crowed inwardly with triump. She forced herself to think terrible thoughts until tears began to gather in the corner of her eyes and she placed her hands demurely at her sides. She hung her head until the long, coppery fall of her hair spilled over her shoulders. What she didn't have in beauty, she could make up for in cunning. She knew she looked pitiful as she forced her voice to tremble as she spoke.

"Do you think Captain Orton will ever see it that way? He promised to make my life here miserable," she let out a choked sob. "Doesn't he understand that I made a mistake? I just want to atone for it..."

She startled as he reached out for her, pulling her close. It was unexpected, to say the least. She stiffened at first, worried that he might be trying something more than comforting her, but when he made no further move, she relaxed. She had him. He was as good as hers.

"I'm sure he'll come around," Evan soothed. "Don't think about it. Just make the best of your time with Captain Cena. He's the nicer of the two."

"He's made me feel nothing but welcome," she agreed, sniffling pitifully as she pulled away from him. "I hope to see you again, Master Bourne."

"Call me Evan," he smiled at her, tucking a ginger curl away from her eyes. "And I'll be back. I escort Jack at the Lady's request."

She filed that bit of information away as she smiled in return. Dropping a curtsey, she watched him leave. She need only endear herself to the Lady and Jack, and she'd have a veritable force of influential alliances against Orton and his followers.

Elizabeth's sharp call forced her to focus on other things, though, and she hurried back to her Lady's side to further ready her for the dinner at Court.

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><p>The inky blackness swirled for a moment, forming the image of Dian mab Eireann's face before the Morrigan drew upon her spirit, forcing her exploits to play out on the still surface of the water. She watched with interest, noting all of the wiles the young girl employed to seat herself fully within castle walls. She had been a good choice; cunning, frightfully smart, but not too intelligent that she would ever be able to turn on them and live to tell about it.<p>

The water rippled and cleared, leaving nothing but the reflection of torches for her to contemplate. It soothed her soul to know she'd chosen well, that Grainne had not mislead her. The Goddess always smiled on her, though, and she hoped she would continue to do so. Ever so slowly, she was gaining inch by tortuous inch of ground inside the Realm. Vincent was so concerned with his daughter's newly consummated marriage to even notice the influx of loyal Isla Vertians in his villages and shires. Already, she had maybe a two hundred or so infantry men disguised as ignorant peasants hidden throughout the land, with her most trusted commander, Stiofan mab Eireann, at the helm.

Eireann had bred nothing but useful children, she mused. But to grow up under the hand of the fierce Lady of Draegda, one would need to be particularly cunning and swift to navigate her moods and ambitions. It all worked out in the Morrigan's favor in the grand scheme of things, however, as she would reap all of the benefits with none of the degrading work.

Her pieces were in play. Let the game commence.

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><p><strong>Reviews and critiques are welcomed and encouraged. <strong>


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